


The Strings Above

by Silverwind578



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Dreamon, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Pandora's Vault, Panic Attacks, Possession, Prison, Realistic Minecraft, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverwind578/pseuds/Silverwind578
Summary: A mockery of his laugh echoes around the room.“Are you ready to face what you have done?” The voice asks, a giggle following a second later.“B-but it wasn’t me,” Dream stammers, struggling to rise to his feet. “IT WASN’T ME!”“And they don’t know that.” The voice cackles, crescendoing until Dream falls to his knees, hands clutching his hair as tears fall from beneath the mask.--OR--Dream hasn't been himself for a very long time. The SMP does not know this and so, King Minos becomes Daedalus, locked away in the very thing he commissioned.
Comments: 49
Kudos: 488





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you all enjoy my first venture into Dreamsmp fanfiction. Reminder to check tags and look after yourself. Enjoy!

“I’m sorry Dream, but you should have paid me more.”

The voice, however soft, carries across the room and Dream freezes. Glancing over at the mercenary, Dream watches, hope rising, as more and more people rush through the portal. Their armour clinks and weapons stay at the ready as they line up, all facing against him.

Taunts fall from his mouth, aimed to hurt, to stir up past hurts and wrongs of the ones he used to call friends.

_He doesn’t feel entitled to call them that anymore._

( _not after all he has ~~not~~ done)_

A mockery of his voice escapes his body and he wants to scream, yell at the repulsed faces of Sapnap and George that it’s not him. Can’t they see it, hear it, feel it?

_It’s.. not… him…._

But they hide the two boys ( _only boys, not yet men, although the slope of their shoulders and the grimace set on their face said otherwise)_ behind them and draw their axes the second his body approaches.

_God how Dream wished he could reach out and touch them, use his hand to comfort them but instead he was stuck here, behind a shield of red, wishing for anything other than this._

“Put your stuff in the hole.”

The red swirls again, angry and trapped, lashing out at the only other occupant.

Dream whines, a prayer going unheard and unanswered and let’s the red overtake ( _it’s easier this way, he’s learnt, to let go, hide in the depths of his own mind, unseen but still seeing)_.

His items fall, and a laugh echoes throughout the room ( _it used to be so warm, now it’s only used to harm, a taunt, ~~god why has no one realised something is wrong~~ )_, or it does, until Tommy picks them up, not a piece of TNT in sight.

( _the broken will never fall to the level of this creatures, it turns out_ )

Dream sighs and resists the urge to laugh in the creature’s face.

After months of torture and it still hasn’t discovered the fighting spirit of Tommyinnit.

He resists though, because maybe, someday, if he’s quiet enough, good enough, he’ll be allowed to rest.

Distracted for a second, he misses the flash of a blade, but he isn’t oblivious to the volatile red snares.

They snarl and gasp when the blade cuts, a deep gash that gushes blood.

It pours onto the obsidian, throwing a red glow around the room. They choke, stumbling backwards as the axe is readied.

No one is laughing, but no one is helping either.

It hurts, to look at the people he considers his family, his friends and only see blank, hate filled eyes.

_(maybe though, maybe he deserves it. After all, it is his face, his voice, doing all this. Does it make a difference, who is in control, when actions are carried out by a set of hands, a voice?)_

Another blow lands.

The world fades into darkness.

\--

_Dream was slain by TommyInnit using Axe of Peace._

\--

Dream wakes with a snarl on his lips and fresh, pink scar across his throat.

A flash of his wrist reveals two inked lines and before he can process it, he is back, facing the others once more.

Behind the haze of red, Dream rages. How unfair that his first life is taken when he isn’t in control.

_Are they really that inconsequential to this being?_

In this moment, two seems so much less than three and Dream, for the first time, fears death.

It has never been a concern in this world and after the initial hurdle of gathering resources, it’s even less of one. Three lives were plentiful, but when enchanted armour and potions and god apples were added, they became a little irrelevant.

_Why would lives matter if you never die?_

Now stripped of those resource, facing down twenty people who believe him to be the enemy, Dream panics.

He’s not the only one.

Ignored pleas escape his lips and Dream watches helplessly as no one steps in between him and Tommy, in between him and the crossbow slowly being levelled at his face.

The red pulses, amused, and as much as Dream hates this situation, hates what’s become of him, he agrees.

The mask is practically indestructible.

A gift ( _ ~~curse~~ , ~~apology~~ , ~~meaningless gesture~~_ ) all at once.

_Don’t let anyone ever tell you the gods are merciful, that they care._

_They don’t._

As proven here:

Tommy lowers his aim.

Then fires.

A bolt enters the soft flesh of Dream’s stomach, ripping away half his health.

He fires again.

This time, Dream does not get to see his lowered health, only nothingness, the emptiness of the void.

His second life ticks down.

Only one remains.

\--

What, except an act of the gods, could cause that.

\--

Although his body wakes and confronts Tommy again, Dream does not.

He’s pushed down and out of his own mind by the throbbing ( _angry, god why is it always angry_ ) red and the shock of a single line on his wrist.

He misses the bargaining, the pleading, the deal for his life.

It isn’t until the stale air registers in his sinuses that Dream awakens.

A desperate glance around the room causes a scream to build in his throat. Staggering backwards, he bumps into an obsidian wall, cuts appearing whenever he presses against it.

Crumpling to the ground, no one is there to witness a lone tear roll down his cheek, splashing onto his knee.

A mockery of his laugh echoes around the room.

“Are you ready to face what you have done?” The voice asks, a giggle following a second later.

“B-but it wasn’t me,” Dream stammers, struggling to rise to his feet. “IT WASN’T ME!”

“And they don’t know that.” The voice cackles, crescendoing until Dream falls to his knees, hands clutching his hair as tears fall from beneath the mask.

It stops, so suddenly that Dream fears, for a moment, that he’s died and lost his final life. Gradually, the crackle of lava filters in, followed by the harsh sound of his own breathing.

For the first time in aeons, Dream is alone. Both physically and mentally. There are no red threads, holding him down, locking him away in the darkest recesses of his mind where all he can do is watch.

The world tilts, Dream sucks in a shuddering breath, and everything snaps back into place.

_Except it doesn’t._

Images flash by; a blown up L’manberg, a father’s quiet grief and tattered wings, friends leaving, comfort found in each other, never him, a boy standing above a lava pit, all hope lost, until it isn’t ( _Dream wishes he could be as strong as Tommy, maybe, then, none of this would have happened_ ).

_Oh god, just what had he done?_

Bile rises in his throat and he gags, a rough cough escaping him. It echoes around the room, a sob soon following.

They meld together, a cacophony of sound that presses down on him. Soon, it’s the only thing he can hear, the already muffled outside world and invasive lava crackles overpowered by a medley of his own suffering.

It’s what he deserves.

Trapped in his own creations, from actions that were not his own.

_~~(when are its actions considered not his own, when Dream was the one to let it in?)~~ _

“Cause and effect,” a traitorous voice whispers, “you’re the one who weakened after all.”

Dream screams and brings his hand down, again and again and again, until flesh mangles, a bloodied mess where a hand used to sit.

Red splatters, an abstract painting if one ignores the medium, and Dream jerks back as it crosses his vision.

- _red pulsing vines that never let go, the feeling of suffocating under the weight of your own mind, a red haze that never lifted, the oppression and pain a product of it-_

Unheard truths escape into the void, absorbed by the wall of lava he is surrounded by.

‘It wasn’t me; I promise - _none of my actions have ever been my own_ \- I love you guys, please, let me out. I promise, it wasn’t me.’

There is no response. Why should there be? There’s no one around him for miles and miles.

It is a broken man that collapses in front of the lava, bowed head only millimetres away from it. Silent tears escape from underneath the mask, an unchanging smile still painted across it.

A shudder wracks his body, and an anguished scream escapes as he falls forward.

There is no move to escape.

Dream burns.

And burns.

And burns.

Red clouds his vision.

What does it get out of this, he wants to scream, but the words are stuck in his throat. So much destruction, so much chaos, all for what? Amusement? A spark of joy? A being playing with mortals until they were so broken they no longer reacted.

The red pulses again. With a racing heart and trembling fingers, he wrenches himself out of the lava.

Tripping backwards, he huddles in a corner, fingers scrabbling at the ground, terror clawing its way up his throat.

Red still dances behind clenched eyes. Forcing his eyes open, Dream sobs as the red disappears.

_Was it even real? Is any of this real?_

His vision blurs, nails dig into his arms, leaving red trails. Everything muffles, a continuous buzzing all that can be heard.

Reality tilts again.

This time it doesn’t fix itself.

Heat rises off the obsidian, scorching anything it comes in contact with.

His last half a heart quivers, pathetic compared to what he’s used to.

It quivers again, then ticks down.

\--

 _Dream burnt to death_.

\--

The message hangs heavy. A second passes, then an eternity. No one responds.

A man, finally a man, no longer a creature, falls into a pool of water.

The water hisses and bubbles around him, red marks fading away.

He clambers out of the water, the heat of the cell evaporating the dripping water. A few steps take him to the other side of his cell. He stares blankly at the clock, hand pointed to night.

_tick.. tock…. tick.… tock…… tick…….. tock…………_

Dream slouches against the wall, gaze still locked on the clock.

Proof time passes, however slow it feels.

Somewhere, in the distance:

A duo relaxes for the first time in a long time, a smile shared between the two.

An ender hybrid tosses and turns in the tundra they’ve found themselves in, mellohi echoing in their head ( _there is no rest for them_ ).

Two best friends ignore the gaping hole in their lives, their third didn’t want them, they’ll make do.

The warden sits in full netherite, ignoring the pinging message on his communicator. Dream should know death will not let him escape.

A woman huddles in the arms of her lover, a blank stare cast into the fireplace. _He was my duckling_ , she wants to say, but the words stick in her throat. _Where did we go wrong?_

There is no answer.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the support, it's absolutely insane! Over 1000 hits and nearly 200 kudos in a week!! Thank you all so much. Hope you enjoy this next chapter :D

_Click_.

Dream bites into the raw potato with a wince, his already parched throat gets drier with each nibble. He finishes it with a scowl and collapses against the wall.

Opposite the clock, he watches as the hands slowly tick forward.

The day passes in a haze.

_Click_.

The potato dispenses onto the floor and Dream drags himself over to it, weighed down by the fatigue settled in his bones.

He cradles it, praying it tastes different.

There is no difference. He chokes it down, pinpricks in the corners of his eyes.

Another day gone.

_Click._

Dream catches the potato this time, a giddy laugh escaping him.

The potato is gone in a few bites and Dream pushes himself to his feet. He teeters on his feet as he moves forward. Stopping in front of the lava, he imagines how everyone else is doing ( _hopefully good now that he is in here_ ).

Today is a better day.

_Click_.

The potato lands on outstretched hands but Dream can’t bring himself to eat it. He stares at it, eyes burning, lips trembling as a silent sob escapes him.

( _why, why, is he stuck in here when he did nothing wrong_ )

He throws the potato into the lava, scrambling to his feet when he realises what he’s done.

Another sob escapes him, audible this time as Dream weeps in front of the lava.

The clock ticks steadily on.

_Click_.

Dream takes a couple of bites, before throwing the potato to the side, a scowl painted on his face.

He lies on the floor, reminiscing of a simpler time, when he’d lie on the top of the tallest tree, surrounded by friends and point out the constellations, the moonlight shining down on them all.

_They’d all felt invincible in those moments_.

Traitorous tears slide out from the edges of the mask and Dream scrubs them away. He turns, curled into a ball, facing an obsidian wall and tries to sleep.

Eyes closed but thoughts racing. The day passes.

_Click._

Dream sees a glimpse of redstone as the potato is dispensed and freezes, heart in his throat.

Hands shake as he digs his nails into his arms and drags them down, again and again. Words caught in his throat, he chokes on meaningless pleas and apologies.

Terror overtakes and he stumbles into the lava, relishing in the few seconds of peace as he burns to death.

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_Dream tried to swim in lava_

_(He doesn’t remember much of that day.)_

_Click._

Dream ignores the red patches on his skin that never seem to disappear regardless of how long he spends in the pool of water and reaches to grab the falling potato.

His arms shake in exertion; the potato falls to the floor.

He doesn’t bother picking it up. These days, a simple motion leaves him drained.

He stares at the obsidian and wonders when it became his favourite block.

( _why can’t he remember_ )

He sighs, closes his eyes and pretends the burning light is a sunrise.

_Click._

The lava disappears-

( _the lava disappears_ )

Dream gasps, raises up onto trembling legs and backs into the corner.

The Warden’s footsteps echo across the chamber as the bridge nears his cell.

“S-sam,” Dream calls out, it comes out broken, barely a whisper.

“Quiet, Dream. Stand at the back of your cell. Don’t move.”

The bridge collides with his cell and Sam enters, netherite armour gleaming and sword held loosely at his side.

Dream goes to speak, only to stop when Sam turns to face him. There is no sign of the once close friend in his eyes.

“Don’t bother Dream, I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He sighs, gesturing in front of him. “Stand here, don’t move.”

Dream’s eyes sting behind the mask but he doesn’t let them fall. He shuffles to where Sam pointed, hands shaking behind his back.

“Tommy wants to visit today,” the Warden starts, looking Dream in the eyes. “I’m checking that you do not have anything on you.”

A silent whine builds in Dream’s throat as the sword is raised, before slashing downwards. A pained yelp escapes as a second swing comes down. Then he’s splashing into the pool, eyes blown behind the mask and heart thundering.

He grasps at his chest as the remnants of death slowly leave him.

“Good.” Sam nods, opening the chest of books that Dream has yet to use and checking the lectern.

“Tommy will be here later. Don’t try anything.”

With that, the Warden steps back onto the bridge, sending it back with a click of a button and lava descends from the ceiling the second he’s back.

Panic swells until it’s a raging torrent. Dream clings to himself as he chokes and stutters on breaths. There is no one here to calm him down, to match his breathing with, no one to ask, _five things you can see?_.

Dream draws in a shuddering breath and lets the tears fall. Snot runs down his face and with a weak snarl, he rips the mask of his face, letting it fall to the side.

He buries his head in his arms, biting down and releasing a guttural scream. His body shakes, wedged in the corner of his cell. He dozes off, sobs trailing off to whimpers and tears into nothing.

\--

Dream comes to with a start, voices echoing outside his cell. He flounders, fingers reaching for his mask, fumbling the clasp. Relief floods his system, until he hears Tommy’s voice.

He struggles to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall until he doesn’t sway. He fiddles with his hoodie, pulling the sleeves down, covering the red burns on his arms. It’s times like these that he’s glad for the mask.

They don’t need to see his red rimmed eyes or his quivering lips and eyes that give away his thoughts.

Some part of him whines, yearning for someone to take the mask off, to ask what is wrong, to look at him, and see Dream, the victim instead of the tormentor. He ignores that part, though. There is no room for weakness. Not knowing what Tommy wants, knowing what he is capable of.

( _the scars still ache, even on good days, a sign that even the strongest can still bleed, hurt, die_ )

The lava disappears, revealing the Warden and Tommy, one in full armour, the other as defenceless as Dream, except he isn’t dumb enough to think that. He knows all Tommy would have to say is one word and Dream would be dead.

The bridge approaches and Dream forces himself upright. He watches Tommy’s approach, the trembling hands that mimicked his own, not that he’d ever let Tommy know that.

_I’m sorry,_ he tries to say, but the words stick, _I wasn’t in control. If I could take it back I would_.

The boy stops his approach, looking at Dream as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.

He opens his mouth. Then closes it, a frown marring his usually joyful face.

Fire sparks in his eyes and he pushes through some barrier. A swallow. Silence.

Then:

“Can you bring Wilbur back?” Tommy asks, gnawing on his lips, hope filled eyes narrowing in on Dream.

“I-I what?!” He stutters, “Wilbur’s dead, Tommy.” He misses Tommy’s narrowed eyes and shaking fists.

“YOU PROMISED!” He yells, grabbing Dream’s hoodie and pushing him against the wall.

Dream hisses as the heated obsidian burns his back, groaning as Tommy shoves him harder again.

Biles rises in his throat as Sam does nothing to step in. He gags. Forcing his eyes open, he catches a glimpse of Tommy’s red shirt, thrown into memories that he doesn’t remember.

- _a deal with the devil, a book to bring back the dead for his unwavering support in the war, a cackling laugh that echoes and echoes and echoes_ -

“You promised,” the boy spits, dragging Dream back to the present, “that was the deal, your life for that book.”

He pushes Dream again, his head hitting the wall. Dream can feel blood dripping onto his neck, but neither Sam or Tommy notice or care.

“I’d- I’d need an enderchest,” he rasps, coughing weakly. He closes his eyes, unprepared for Tommy shoving him back.

A whine escapes through gritted teeth as Tommy cheers, “that’s what I thought, bitch.” He laughs, whirling to face Sam, “we’re getting Wilbur back!”

Dream collapses, holding his throbbing head in his hands as Tommy leaves.

The lava descends, leaving Dream alone once more.

It stings, how Wilbur, a national founder, blew up his country and is still being given a second chance, while Dream is left to rot in prison from actions that weren’t his own.

A rough laugh escapes him, until he’s giggling uncontrollably, spikes of pain leaving him gasping. The laughter trails off, leaving heaving sobs in its absence.

Truth is, he doesn’t remember the deal for his life. Had not questioned why he’d been locked away instead of being killed. Maybe he should have, he reflects, clutching his head, fingers slick with blood.

He shifts, burns searing with pain as stumbles to his feet. He trips, falling into the water, yelping as it stings his open cuts and weeping burns.

He stands there, until the throbbing in his head gets too much, the cut on his head yet to heal, the burns radiating heat, then throws himself towards the lava.

He respawns. The cut disappears, as does the burns on his back. So what if his skin seems a little more red now. It’s not as though anyone will notice. There _is_ no one to notice.

\--

Dream is ready this time when the lava falls. He stands, hands fisted at his side and waits for the bridge to reach his cell. 

He doesn’t flinch as Sam brings down the sword twice, leaving him swimming in an endingless void, nor does he flinch as Tommy steps in his cell.

They’ve let Tommy keep his gear, is what Dream notices first. The next is the splash potions held in Sam’s hands. The last is the lava that lowers, trapping the three of them in his cell.

He shifts, tension running through his body. Fingers drum on his thighs. Sam tenses, as though Dream has something planned ( _how could he, his mind cries, this is his first human interaction in who knows how long_ ).

“Stand in the water, Dream,” the Warden says. His sword switches to the splash potions. “When these take effect, I’m going to place the enderchest down.” He pauses, eyes meeting the masked, “do not take anything else. I will be conducting a physical search afterwards.”

They back to the opposite side of his cell, weapons still at the ready. Sam breathes in deeply, before lobbing the potions at Dream. They shatter, glass and fumes going everywhere.

The world blurs and Dream shakes as over half his health is ripped away. He tries to bring a hand up to rub the ache away, but it feels like moving through molasses. His legs tremble with the effort of keeping himself upright.

The Warden and Tommy approach. An enderchest is placed in front of him. He stares, mind still whirling and processing.

“Dream- Dream,” the Warden snaps, “open the enderchest. Take out the book.”

The two raise their swords. Dream opens the chest. The book rests in the middle, a redstone smile surrounding it.

Dream chokes. Tears well under the mask.

The guards move closer, swords at the ready.

He clutches at the book, red flickering over his vision. He hovers over the contents.

“Dream.” The enchanted golden apples glow under the light of the lava.

“Do you have the book?” His spare armour would be so easy to slip on.

“Dream.” The potions would be so easy to drink.

“Don’t make me hurt you. _Do you have the book_?” Dream snaps back to reality. _What does he think this is, then? Painless? Easy?_

With a hidden snarl etched onto his face, he nods, throat clogged and waits for the piercing blow of the sword and the blankness of the void.

He spawns, as always, dropping into the pool of water. He presses a hand against his chest, trying to massage away the sting.

“What the fuck, Sam, I can’t read it,” Tommy whines, thrusting the book towards Sam.

His voice breaks through the haze in Dream’s mind and he coughs, clearing the lingering feeling of death.

Their eyes are drawn to Dream as he climbs out of the water, shaking slightly as they bring up their weapons.

“What the fuck is this, Dream? It’s all scribbles and shit.”

Tommy shakes the book, disgust obvious as he glares at Dream.

“It’s locked to me,” he says, leaning forward to grab it. “Admin privilege,” he adds as an afterthought, though his cocky grin wavers. _It’s certainly not helping him now_.

Tommy faces Sam, a question on the tip of his tongue. But the Warden nods, scowling as he does so.

Tommy holds the book out and Dream falters as he reaches forward, eyes darting between the book and the weapons still held at the ready.

They make no move, so Dream opens the book, mind whirling as he takes in the wealth of knowledge before him.

_No wonder this was used as a bargaining chip for his life_.

He runs a finger down the page, struggling to focus on the words. He squints, hand coming to a rest as he spots resurrection.

He flips to the page, eyes flicking.

“Oh my god,” Tommy groans, “can you hurry up? I don’t want to be in here.”

_Well neither do I,_ Dream resists the urge to sneer. Glancing up, Tommy rests his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, knuckles white.

Goosebumps raise on Dream’s arms and he continues flicking through the book, thoughts racing as he absorbs the written words.

Shaking his head to clear it, he rattles of a list of things, watching the shocked expressions of Tommy and Sam.

_Did they think that this would be cheap, easy? This is death they were playing with_.

“A totem,” the boy repeats, “do you know how hard those are to get?”

Dream shrugs. He does, actually, but he wasn’t the one to make the rules.

“And what binds them to the world. What the hell is that supposed to mean? And the sword that killed him, I don’t know if Phil kept it.” He trails off at the end, lost in thought.

Dream shrugs again, creeping backwards as Tommy’s hand clenches his sword.

Sam looks over at Dream. “That all?” He asks, hand hovering over his sword.

Dream nods, not trusting his voice and presses himself against the wall.

“Alright,” the Warden says, “I’ll hold onto the book until you give the go ahead, Tommy. Dream?”

Dream doesn’t hesitate. He holds the book and steps back once its out of his hands.

He misses the Warden’s narrowed eyes and suspicious gaze and gasps when the sword strikes him, then again.

He spawns to Sam’s apathetic shrug and studiously ignores the sheen of red painted on the walls, instead focusing on breathing through the pain.

Sam shakes his head, throwing an apprehensive look at Dream before stepping towards the entrance of his cell. He beckons Tommy, who gives him a tense smile as he approaches the hybrid.

“Ok Sapnap, we’re ready to come back now.”

Dream’s head snaps towards Sam. “Wait,” he rasps, “Sapnap’s here? Does he—Can I see him?”

It’s a careless slip of the tongue, he doesn’t mean to ask that, but it’s too late.

“I don’t think he wants to see you at the moment, Dream. Not after what you’ve done.”

The words pierce worse than the crossbow bolt had and Dream takes a step back. He swallows around the lump in his throat, tears threatening to spill over. They glance over at him; their looks aren’t filled with pity or sorrow.

It wasn’t me. The words echo in his mind, never able to escape his mouth.

( _ ~~but it was your fault, someone had to let it in~~_ )

They turn, backs to him and exit the cell.

The lava falls, obscuring the outside world, squashing any hope that this will be over soon.

Dream breathes out and closes his eyes, forcing trembling hands into stillness.

_Click_.

The potato lands with a thud. Dream flinches, eyes shooting open. He falls into the corner, a sob ripping out of his chest. He trembles, burying his head into the crook of his elbow.

The glow of the lava disappears.

If he pretends hard enough, the blocks beneath him are grass, the darkness is the night sky and the heat is his friend’s warmth as they cuddle under a starry sky.

( _ ~~he’s not delusional, he just wants an escape~~_ )


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how we feeling about Tommy huh? I'm very excited to see where this new arc goes and can't wait for even more angst to fuel this fic lmao. Thanks for all the support, let's see if I can get past my three chapter curse. See you (hopefully) in the next one o7

“Why are you here, Ghostbur?”

“Cause you’re here, Tommy!”

The boy frowns, turning to face the translucent figure.

“No, like, why are you here, alive, instead of fucking off into the void like Schlatt?”

“Cause you’re here.”

“Oh.”

_Oh._

The sun rises on the two, a smile curling its way onto the younger’s face. He turns, watching night fade away.

Mellohi plays in the background.

Nothing can hurt them.

\--

Dream waits for the day the lava descends and reveals Tommy and Ghostbur, because he remembers the deal.

His life for the book.

His life for Wilbur’s.

( _ ~~he can rest when this is done~~_ )

\--

Tommy shakes the snowflakes from his hair as he sneaks into the house’s basement. They melt as they reach the ground, leaving no sign he was here.

He grips the list in his hand. They almost have everything to bring Wilbur back. It’s only the sword missing.

Tommy ignores the way his heart clenches as he sees the evidence of his short-lived stay gone.

( _it’s ok. He doesn’t miss them either_ )

( _ ~~lies~~_ )

He shakes his head and begins the arduous task of looking through the chests.

_Please_ , he prays to the gods above, knowing they never listen but still trying, _please let it be here_.

He starts upstairs, prying open the chests with nimble fingers, careful to avoid alerting anyone of his presence.

There’s a flash of movement in the distance, Tommy freezes as a blip of black and white enters a shack. He sighs, heart yearning for something he cannot have and ignores the hybrid.

At least Ranboo is safe.

He cannot involve him; this is something he has to do himself.

There will be time for reconciliation later.

The first few chests are a bust, though Tommy gapes at the wealth they have. He forgot about the life of luxury they live.

Stacks of emerald blocks lie in the chest, surrounded by gold and ender pearls.

He clutches the few items in his inventory, pitiful compared to the gods living here.

Most of the things aren’t even his. Tommy knows there’s no way he would grind for a stack of golden apples, no matter how good they are.

Better with him than Dream. He sneers, closing the chest with a bang.

His head shoots to the window and he crosses his fingers. The hybrid doesn’t stir.

He rolls his shoulders, tension flowing out of his body and heads down to the basement.

The chattering of villages meets his ears, more so than when he was previously here.

He scowls, wondering why they needed even more stuff.

_Kill them_.

He shakes his head, clambers down off the ladder and opens one of the chests.

The stench of gunpowder reaches his nose and he flinches, stumbling backwards.

_“Put your stuff in the hole, Tommy”_

He can’t breathe.

_“White flags, outside your base, by dawn, or you are dead”_

Nails draw down his arms.

_“Chekov’s gun… Chekov’s gun”_

He chokes and stutters in a breath.

The world filters back in, bit by bit, until Tommy can feel the Arctic air on his skin, can hear past the blood rushing through his veins to the villagers below him, murmuring in their native language.

_Leave the door open, lead a zombie here. Let them die_.

Tommy frowns, pulling clenched fingers away from the chest. He staggers to his feet, reaching for the next chest.

He just needs to find the sword, then he can leave.

Rummaging through the chests, Tommy can’t help but wonder what it feels like to place a chest down and not have to worry about it being blown up.

Truth is, even with Dream locked away, he can’t stop looking over his shoulder, looking for a green silhouette with arms full of TNT and a smile to ruin his day.

A cackle echoes through the room and Tommy looks around the room, but no one is there. The wheezing laughter trails off, leaving Tommy shaking.

He spins, eyes flickering around the room, but there is no smiley mask, no flash of green.

What the fuck, he mouths. He breathes in, closing his eyes, opening them as he exhales slowly.

“There’s no one here, Tommy,” he mutters, opening the next chest. “Dream is locked away. It is just you.”

The glint of enchanted tools catches his eyes and he focuses on the contents, disbelief etched onto his face as he takes in the collection of wealth.

Hope flutters in his chest as he eyes the row of enchanted swords. Surely, it must be here.

He runs a hand along them, feeling their various enchantments hum under his fingers. None of them are Wilbur’s sword.

A sword catches his eye, hidden in the corner, so dull it could almost be mistaken for wood. Tommy grabs it, pulling a face at the flaking exterior, only to gag when he inhales, the scent of blood unmistakable.

Tears prick in his eyes as he takes in the state of the sword. It is undeniably the one.

There is no reason for Phil to leave a sword in this state, unless he didn’t want to face what he had done.

Tommy stares, entranced by the various gems and valuables laying at the bottom of the chest.

He can’t remember the last time he had stuff in chests to be worried about losing.

_Steal it. Take it. Leave them with nothing_.

Tommy slams the chest shut, chest heaving. He sheathes the sword at his side, throwing one last glance around the room.

Too many memories, too much to unpack.

Finality etches itself onto his face and he turns, walking out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Snow covers his footsteps as he makes the trek home.

No one questions his trembling hands as he presents the sword to the greater SMP.

It’s ok. He doesn’t either.

\--

They come on a good day.

Which is probably for the best.

( _Dream counts any day that he can remember a good one now_ )

At least today, he can drag himself to his feet and pretend the wall behind him is not the reason he is standing.

He can smile, behind the mask and ask them what they are here for, even though, he knows, because he’s been praying for this day since Tommy left him a hurt and bloody mess.

The barrier disappears and the three approach. Sam, in his Warden gear, leads the way, Tommy following, not breaking eye contact with Dream, as though he’s afraid that his only chance at getting Wilbur back will disappear.

The ghost follows, trailing happily behind the two, throwing glances around the cell.

He brightens when he sees Dream, the blue in his hands disappearing.

“Hello Dream! Where are we? Where have you been?” he pauses, blue reappearing in his hands, “I haven’t seen you since you asked for the invitations back.”

The ghost turns to Tommy, missing the forlorn look and frown. “How was the party, Tommy? I’m sure you all had a great time!”

Only Dream is witness to Tommy’s flinch, the ghost already turning back to Dream, Sam absorbed in checking the prison’s mechanics.

Guilt twists its way up and out of his throat.

“Tommy… ( _ ~~it wasn’t me~~_ )” He coughs, voice rough from misuse and words that can’t be spoken, “I didn’t want to do those things.” The words burn and trembling fingers grip his wrists behind his back.

_It doesn’t matter the consequences_ , he tells himself, _I got the words out_.

His nails dig in until blood drips, pressure reopening cuts already made.

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” the boy spits, “it still happened. And I don’t fucking believe you anyway.”

Dream supresses a flinch, nails pressing deeper in an effort to control the trembling of his limbs.

How can he say, _it wasn’t me_ , when the words always get stuck, caught in some invisible barrier that Dream cannot surpass ( _and how he’s tried_ ).

“Have some blue, Dream,” Ghostbur says, “you look sad. Why are you sad?”

The ghost approaches, only to be stopped by the Warden’s arm.

“The prisoner is not allowed anything other than what is supplied by the Warden.”

Ghostbur stops, a puzzled look on his face. “The prisoner.”

He cocks his head, eyes slowly flickering between the obsidian walls, Dream’s lack of items and the tense postures of Tommy and Sam.

“…oh, the prisoner.”

He takes a step back. Dream pretends it doesn’t hurt.

“Why are we here then, Tommy?” The ghost asks softly, still backing away, until he’s next to the boy.

“To bring you back! You want to come back, right?” the youngest backtracks, looking at Ghostbur, unrepressed hope shining through in his gaze.

“Yeah, Tommy, I want to come back, I miss you.” It’s said softly, with a gentle smile and Tommy blinks back tears, turning to face Dream.

“Alright, bitch boy! It’s time, what do we need to do?”

Dream looks between the three; the once friend that cannot meet his eyes anymore, a ghost who can’t (will not?) remember and a boy whose entire persona flickers the second he looks at Dream and wonders.

_How much pain had he caused everyone? Maybe he was the problem. If he had just been a little stronger…_

His own distorted wheeze echoes through his cell, the others oblivious to the noise. He flinches, using the wall to steady himself when his knees refuse to lock.

They don’t notice his flinch, or if they do, they chose not to care.

_Dream isn’t sure which one hurts more._

“The book,” he rasps.

Now, they take notice. Ghostbur frowns at the sound, taking a concerned step forward. He cocks his head, as though the mask will reveal all of Dream’s secrets.

Tommy laughs. “A bit hot in here, is it?” he questions, ignoring the sweat that beads on his own forehead.

_At least Tommy had someone to speak to in exile_.

Dream shrugs. “The book,” he repeats, voice clearer this time, Sam’s piercing stare sending shivers up his spine.

It’s passed wordlessly, though the white knuckled grip on their swords say otherwise.

Dream rolls his eyes, still using the wall to support his weight and flips to the page.

His voice quivers and breaks as he reads out the page. He coughs when he finishes, hands trembling as he grasps at his chest.

No relief comes.

“Oh my god,” Tommy exclaims, “are you done, bitch?”

He tilts his head back, colliding with the obsidian and closes his eyes. He breathes deeply, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks and trying to calm the beating of his heart.

He directs the ghost into position, watches as the boy brings the blade up in trembling arms and brings it down.

Sam brings his own sword up as the ghost disappears, leaning towards Dream, but steps back when Ghostbur reappears.

There is no visible change to him, but Dream knows better.

The sword is swung again. This time Dream is witness to the tears glistening in Tommy’s eyes. He winces at the familiar sight as he turns round to Dream, an accusatory look on his face.

“Wh- why do we have to do this.” His voice breaks and a tremor runs through his body.

“It’s about the ritual,” he murmurs.

Tommy’s face screws up and he glares at Dream.

“You’re a bitch, you know that right?”

“Just do the thing, Tommy, please.” Dream sways slightly, still pressed against the wall. Black spots begin to cover his vision.

He slumps even further, a buzzing in his ears increases. He sweats behind the mask, legs nearly buckling with the effort of keeping him upright.

He shakes his head, only to nearly sob as his vision dims even more. He draws in a breath, fingers digging into the wall.

He pushes himself upright as the ghost appears. Tommy looks at Dream, fingers clenching around the hilt of his sword.

“If this doesn’t work…”

“It will.” _It has too._

Tommy grimaces but readies the sword all the same. It swings a final time. The ghost disappears. The sword clatters to the ground. Tommy falls to his knees.

Dream grunts, forcing unmoving legs to step forward.

“Tommy, _now_!” He flinches at his name, an apology to Wilbur falling from his lips.

“The totem,” Dream yells, shaking as Tommy doesn’t move.

He blinks, and the world changes. The blocks fade away, leaving lines and numbers in their place. Tommy stumbles to his feet, his aura a fiery red.

_Why won’t the red ever listen_.

The totem activates and gold rushes outwards, filling the room.

Dream _pushes_ , forcing the energy towards the quickly fading blue of Ghostbur. They meet and the gold weaves and links its way into the blue.

The two merge, forming not green as expected, but a delicate mix of the two. Gold wraps around the weakest parts of the blue, reanimating the slumped form. A final push and the totem’s gold disappears.

Ghostbur, no, Wilbur glows and begins to unfold. Dream, seeing this, let’s himself fall. He drifts, black overpowering his vision.

“Wilbur, is that really you?” A sob echoes in the room as Tommy flings himself at Wilbur.

Wilbur runs a hand through Tommy’s hair, smoothing out the mess.

Sam smiles, heart clenching at the blissful smile plastered on Tommy’s face. “Welcome back, Wilbur. It’s good to have you back.”

The man smiles, pressing a kiss onto Tommy’s head, eyes narrowing as he takes in his surroundings.

“ _Dream_ ,” he breathes, hands tensing.

He brings the two to their feet, Tommy still clinging to him.

“Clingyinnit,” he says, laughing at the choked giggle he gets in return.

“I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” Tommy nods. “You gotta let go then.”

Tommy, high on the elation of having Wilbur back, doesn’t question it and let’s the bridge take him across the lava, retracing his steps.

“Hello, Dream.” A pause, the man crouches down in front of him. “I’m going to be honest; I’ve been waiting for this for a very, very long time.”

He smiles, all teeth and taps on the mask, grinning at the flinch he gets in return.

Dream opens his eyes, whining high and long as the tap rattles through his head.

Wilbur glows now, even without his aura. Dream swallows.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention.” He hums, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Sam frowns, but doesn’t step in. If anyone can get angry on Tommy’s behalf, it is Wilbur.

“Did you think that I wouldn’t remember what you did to Tommy? That you bringing me back would be enough for me to forgive you?” Wilbur laughs, standing up.

He paces, coat flaring out behind him as he whirls to face Dream.

“There is nothing,” he spits, “nothing that you can do that will ever get you out. Forget about the Warden, or the prison guards, or Sapnap or anyone else in this god forsaken world. If you get out, it will be me putting the blade between your ribs with a smile on my face.

“Don’t try me.”

\--

Tommy stumbles out of the prison, exiting the nether portal with a dopey grin.

Tubbo meets him, a laugh flowing out of him as he takes it in.

“It worked!” Tommy cheers, throwing himself at Tubbo. “Wilbur’s back and he’s not crazy!”

They both laugh, crumpling to the ground.

“Good job big man.”

The sun sets and they flash matching smiles at each other. They scale a nearby hill, resting against one another, taking in the sunset.

The light reflects off the ocean, casting red and orange into the world.

“Reborn from fire,” Tommy murmurs, shrugging off Tubbo’s puzzled look.

He sighs, leaning his head back. The stars begin to shine above them and for a moment, Tommy thinks everything is going to be ok.

“The SMP. This is a new beginning. For all of us. No wars, no more fighting. We can be free.”

Neither of them notice the shadow that settles across the land, strings in every direction, hooks ensnared in unwilling victims.

Tommy closes his eyes, inhaling gently, the fresh air freeing him in a way that nothing can. His nose twitches and he breathes in deeper. Smoke rests heavy on his tongue and he turns to Tubbo, seeing the same confused expression.

“What the fuck!?” He stands up, whirling around to face the main Dream SMP lands. Squinting, he sees smokes rising above the hills and treetops. A fiery pillar appearing out of the smog.

“What the actual fuck!” He repeats, Tubbo echoing him.

They sprint towards it, the crackle and pop of a burning building growing louder as they approach. Panicked and angry yells reach their ears. Nearly the whole SMP is there. They stop, mouths open, eyes refusing to believe what is in front of them.

_“Sapnap?!”_

\--

Dream stares, confused, at the backs of the retreating figures.

His gaze flickers to the lone line on his wrist and back to the retreating figures.

Where is the flash of a blade, the release of death?

_Wasn’t that the deal, his life for Wilbur’s?_

_Why is he still alive?_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed, if you did, let me know by leaving kudos or screaming in the comments and on [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/silverwind578)


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